Crossroads
by jaijainagra
Summary: After the events in the pool, Sherlock and John have a lot to sort out. But a new case soon puts that aside... SLASH  eventually , M/M. Feedback is oh so welcome.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"John... John."

"Mm... talk later, sleep first." John's voice was bleary with sleep. He didn't open his eyes, but of course he knew who was talking. It was the first time they'd spoken since leaving the swimming pool and getting a taxi.

"Yes, well, it's either sleep in the taxi or get inside and sleep in your bed. I'd strongly suggest the former myself. Come on!" There was an impatient dig to his side. Giving up, John opened his eyes and followed Sherlock out of the taxi. They paid the driver, then John opened the door to 221b Baker Street and they both went upstairs. Once they were inside, there was a moment's silence, which Sherlock broke, sounding somewhat awkward.

"John... listen, what happened tonight-"

"Not now, Sherlock. I honestly don't have the energy to deal with that subject tonight. In the morning, alright?"

Sherlock nodded once, then watched as John walked to his room and closed the door behind him. He flopped down onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling, thinking rapidly, going over the events of the night once again.

Pulling the trigger had seemed like the best, most logical plan of action at that moment in time. Allowing Moriarty to live another day when they would most likely be killed by his snipers was something that could not be allowed. There was the idea of him killing more people, endangering more lives, facilitating more criminal acts, of course, but... Sherlock also knew that he was the only person that was a match for Moriarty. He had to survive, if only to continue their little game.

Moriarty had known what Sherlock's answer would be, and had been ready for it. Although the bomb vest was certainly live and primed, it was not in the same calibre as the others had been. The explosion that took place knocked Sherlock and John back off their feet and took out a large section of the tiled floor and the wall beside them... but it wasn't lethal. When Sherlock got back to his feet, Moriarty had disappeared.

It had taken a few minutes to get their bearings and get out of the ruined swimming pool. In that time, someone had called the police, evidently having heard the sound of the explosion. They found themselves having to explain to Inspector Lestrade how they had ended up at the pool in the first place, let alone let Moriarty.

"Moriarty had taken John as his final 'voice'. I came to the conclusion that he would have gone somewhere of significance to both of us, somewhere we both had ties. This swimming pool is where my first unsolved case began, and where he committed his first murder, it was simple."

Lestrade looked deeply suspicious at that. He was by no means as clever as Sherlock Holmes, but he knew something didn't quite add up here. He turned to John.

"Is what he said true?"

For a moment, John and Sherlock's eyes had met. John knew what Sherlock was asking of him, didn't even need to read his expression to know; and was uncomfortable lying to the police. But he was also overwrought, in shock and just wanted to sleep. He met Lestrade's gaze.

"Yeah, that's about it."

There was a pause in which Lestrade took this in. Then he nodded.

"Fine. Both of you are free to go, but I may have other questions in the coming days."

"Yes, you know where to find us, of course." Sherlock called back over his shoulder as they walked away.

The remainder of the night had passed in near silence. John had fallen asleep within moments of their getting into the taxi, and Sherlock found himself watching him... wondering. His friend had done something incredibly valiant tonight. Had essentially offered to sacrifice himself in order to let Sherlock escape. It had shocked Sherlock, and was now making him feel an emotion he rarely felt... guilt, and insecurity. He knew he had done wrong, and that John had nearly paid a price as a result... and he was now unsure how to proceed. A troubling state of affairs. There was also the notion that John was angry. It had seeped from his tone of voice, his body language. Was he perhaps angry enough to want to leave?

It was surprising just how much that thought bothered Sherlock. Despite the fact that John was so different, so very... _normal_ compared to him, they had got along well. He had found John's evident awe of his abilities gratifying, whatever he might have shown to the contrary. Not that John was just there to 'ooh' and 'ahh', he had been most helpful. He had killed a man to help him...

"_I will burn the heart out of you."_

"_I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."_

"_... we both know that's not quite true."_

He sighed, and attempted to clear his thoughts. In the next room, he thought he heard the sound of bedsprings creaking as John got into bed. He tried not to think about the possible confrontation to come in the morning.

Next chapter: S and J work things out.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

One of the first things John did the next morning was to call Sarah to apologize for not turning up last night, and to explain why he wouldn't be coming in to work that morning. Sherlock came out of his room just in time to catch the tail-end of the conversation.

"No no, there's no need, i'm alright. Just need to take a day. I'll see you tomorrow and maybe we can... catch up? Right, see you then. Bye."

He put the phone down, then turned his head and saw Sherlock from the corner of his eye.

"Well, Sarah was worried all night. She tried ringing when I didn't turn up, and Mrs Hudson told her we'd both been gone for an hour already."

"Silly really, she should have tried your phone before worrying."

"Worrying for someone you care about doesn't leave most people room to be rational, Sherlock. Besides, my phone was dead even before she called."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, really, because Moriarty checked after he'd... after his cronies had got me. He didn't want the surprise spoilt, I suppose."

There was silence for a few moments, then...

"I had no idea he'd do that, John. If I had, do you think I would have taken such a gamble?"

John gave a slight disbelieving sound.

"You didn't seem too worried about that with the other hostages. They seemed perfectly expendable in this little game of yours."

"That's not the way it was at all, and this was... was different."

The realization of what he had just spoken aloud had made Sherlock falter, and made John look up, uncertain of what he had just heard.

"... what?"

"Oh, you know what I mean. You're someone I know, someone i've worked with. Moriarty knew that would be different, that it would shock me, that was his whole intent. To catch me off guard."

Sherlock had been on his feet, pacing up until this point. Now he took a seat on the couch, took a breath, closed his eyes. He heard the sound of John sitting down opposite him.

"Well... I think it took us both off guard, really. All the excitement I was expecting was how dodgy the takeaway would be at Sarah's."

They both gave a dry chuckle. Sherlock thought it was safe to open his eyes.

"We..." He cleared his throat, feeling awkward again. "Are we alright?"

John gave a shrug of his shoulders.

"I'm still a bit peeved that you lied. You could have told me what you planned, I would have helped."

"That's precisely what I didn't want. I wanted to end it just myself and him, if it was to end last night."

"That's... very melodramatic, Sherlock."

Despite himself, Sherlock chuckled at the look on John's face.

"I suppose it is rather, yes."

"Ahh well, hopefully we'll go a few days without someone attempting to kill us. Fancy some tea?"

"Hm? Oh, yes please." It was only after John had got up and gone into the kitchen that Sherlock remembered something else. "John. What you offered to do... I meant what I said, it was... good, very good of you."

"Oh... thanks." As John turned back to put the kettle on, he wasn't sure whether to feel good that Sherlock had complimented him and seemed to genuinely mean it, or merely confused.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Over the next two weeks, things were relatively quiet, or at least as far as they could be. Sherlock had taken on a couple of small cases that he had solved quickly, but that had at least quenched his boredom levels a little. John had gone back to the practise the next day, and had spent a couple of nights round at Sarah's to make up for not turning up the time before. This... bothered Sherlock slightly, although he was not entirely sure why. After all, John was still interested in what he was doing, still being his usual self.

Tonight, John was at the flat. The windows of the house had been mended by a former tenant of Mrs Hudson's, so they were back in relative warmth. John was writing in his blog and Sherlock was reading the paper when Mrs Hudson came into the flat.

"Sherlock, really, keep your shoes away from the furniture!"

She scolded, if half-heartedly. She had learnt almost immediately upon meeting Sherlock that he tended to do what he wanted.

"Mrs Hudson, really, you know me better then to believe I would leave dirt on my shoes before entering your pristine establishment."

"Ohh, really. You know what will happen if you ever do, young man."

Mrs Hudson moved past John, giving him a little pat on the shoulder in greeting as she did so, and moved to adjust the curtains. She looked out of the window.

"Sherlock, that nice police officer friend of yours just pulled up outside."

Sherlock and John exchanged glances, not least because Mrs Hudson thought any police officer was a friend of Sherlock's. Sherlock got to his feet.

"Which police officer?"

"That nice one that wanted to be let into 221C, you know. He was very polite last time."

Mrs Hudson gave a slightly ditzy smile, then turned to go down and answer the door when it was knocked upon.

"What does he want?" John's voice was quiet and slightly nervous.

"Nothing to do with the pool, he'd have been by now if he did. Something new has happened. Something big."

Before John could react to that, Lestrade had come into the room.

"You might want to come down to the station Sherlock. We've been sent an... interesting piece of evidence. Your serial bomber has changed tactics."

They entered the team's office to the sound of a familiar voice raised in annoyance.

"We don't always need to call the freak whenever there is a case like this! For all we know he could be part of this crazy plot."

"You'd rather people were getting blown up and killed, would you, Sergeant Donovan?"

"No, of course not! Just... there's got to be someone other then [i]him[/i] that we can use."

"Not at the moment, no. Now, if you wouldn't mind, get back to monitoring the systems whilst we talk this through."

Sally Donovan gave Sherlock a filthy look as she passed, but didn't try arguing any further. He could also see Anderson over in a corner, an annoyed look on his face. He smirked as he and John entered Lestrade's office and closed the door behind them. Lestrade turned to face them, hands on his hips, and nodded towards an A3 size envelope on his desk.

"It arrived this afternoon via courier. Delivery driver said it was brought into their offices directly yesterday, and that the man that did it paid well for it to be delivered at a specific time. 3.20pm. When we opened it, there was a type-written note, saying to bring you in and show this to you before 7pm, and signed M."

Sherlock checked the clock. 6.50pm. He picked up the envelope, checked the address. Type-written too.

"Fingerprints?" John asked.

"Nothing, again."

Sherlock opened the envelope, and peeked inside. There was a single sheet of paper, and another, smaller envelope. He slid both out.

The sheet of paper contained what appeared to be a newspaper article. 'Man, 32, found dead', the headline said. He scanned the article, picking out the important words.

[i]Stabbed. Flat, Camden. 3am. Last seen at a wholesale warehouse.[/i]

"The date." John said quietly beside him, breaking Sherlock's concentration for a moment.

"What about it?"

"It's two days ahead."

Sherlock glanced up at the top of the page. John was quite right. A slight crease appeared between his brows at this, and then...

"Oh, very clever..." He murmured.

"What is?" Lestrade asked.

"This is fake. A very clever fake though, he's clearly hired a professional to design this. But still, a fake. The paper is good quality, which says professional sample. No fingerprints on this too, I presume?" Lestrade shook his head. "So, he will have warned the creator of this not to handle this with bare hands. This could mean the creator is aware of the intent, or, more likely, he is too wary to ask questions."

"But why fake a news article about a death two days before it happened?"

"Not two, one. If this article was true, the death would be happening at 3am tomorrow morning, and the death would be reported the next day. Which makes it just over ten hours before now. Now, I would say the reason is quite clear. Why were we being sent the picture clues before?"

"To tell us the deaths were suspicious, so we could reveal the truth. You think this is similar?" John asked.

"Yes, except in reverse. Rather then solving the truth of a murder after it has happened, Moriarty is giving us a chance to prevent them from happening at all."

"But how are we supposed to do that?"

Before Sherlock could answer, there was a beep of a phone. After a second, Sherlock pulled the pink phone out of his coat pocket.

"You're still carrying that?" John's voice was incredulous.

"I knew Moriarty would likely get in touch again, I felt it best to be prepared."

There was one new text message.

**10 hours, sexy. M.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

**Thank you for the alerts and reviews everyone, it means a lot! This one was hard for me to write, but I feel quite proud of it. On another note, there probably won't be any updates on this or my other story until next Tuesday. It's my other half's birthday this weekend, and we're going into London on Saturday to see Phantom of the Opera! I'll try and pass Baker Street on my way through ;)**

"So... what do you think?"

Lestrade sounded nervous and faintly impatient. Sherlock looked up, gave a slight smile.

"You believe this to be about saving this unnamed man in the article, don't you?"

"Well yes, isn't it?"

"No!" Sherlock spoke as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. "True, that seems like the most obvious intent, but think about it, _really_ think. Did Moriarty care about innocent bystanders during our last brush with him?" This question was directed at John.

"No, in fact he killed quite a few innocent bystanders."

"Exactly. He doesn't care about this man, he cares about the one who will commit the murder. That would indicate that they have met previously, meaning that this is a serial killer. Perhaps they have even done deeds for Moriarty in the past."

"So you believe he wants us to catch this killer?"

"Catch him, stop him, whichever."

"But how do we do that?"

Sherlock thought for a second.

"We need to find this victim, then we can intercept the killer when he tries to commit the crime."

"Wait... hide in wait for a _serial killer_?" John's voice was disbelieving. Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Problem?"

"Well... no, we seem to do a lot of crazy things, but still!"

"Sherlock, I can not allow that, you know I can't."

"Inspector, with all respect, I don't actually work for you, so you don't allow me to do anything."

There was a moment's rather prickly silence. Then John cleared his throat.

"So how do we find the victim?"

"Police records. Someone like this will be scared, might have got himself in trouble or had altercations with those that hired the killer. Time to go hunting, John."

/

Five hours later, and there seemed to have been nothing but frustration. John sighed, turned away from the screen of the computer he was using. Sherlock hadn't taken a break or indeed looked away from the notes he was reading since they'd sat down.

"I don't think we're getting anywhere here."

"Keep reading and maybe we will."

"This just doesn't feel right. You said recently, i'm 5 months back and can't find anything."

Sherlock gave a slight sigh.

"Perhaps we are looking for the wrong things."

"Then what _should_ we look for?"

"I... don't know."

This was totally unexpected. John stared at Sherlock, dumbfounded. Sherlock didn't even need to look up to know the expression on John's face.

"Oh John, don't look at me like that."

"I'm sorry, just... you have no ideas?"

"We have barely anything to go on, deliberately I would have thought, and that is hampering my ideas. Add to that, we don't know just what will happen if we fail. That is disconcerting to me."

"You think he's planning something big?"

"Massive."

"Well... we'll just have to keep going. You'll think of something, you always do."

"Not this time."

He'd never heard that tone of voice from Sherlock before. It was quiet. Tremulous. He was uncertain, properly uncertain for the first time since John had met him. The only time he had heard anything close to that was...

"Don't think like that, OK? We can do it, i'm not your accomplice for nothing."

Sherlock suddenly sat upright, startling John.

"What did you say?"

"I said we can do it."

"No no, precisely, what did you say?"

"That i'm... not your accomplice for nothing?"

"Accomplice... _accomplice!_" Sherlock almost shouted the word. He jumped to his feet, came round to John's side of the table, started typing feverishly.

"W-what are you...?"

"What do criminals hate, who would they want to kill?"

"I..." John hesitated, having Sherlock so close, staring at him like that was a bit disconcerting. "Well, police."

"And?"

"And..." John's eyes widened. "Informants, snitches. You think this victim's a snitch?"

"More then that, I think he's been hired by Moriarty before, and has information on Moriarty that he wouldn't want given to the police. So, best way to get rid of him? Kill him off. Maybe he's already told the police some information, not all. We need to find out."

It took about a minute, and then:

"There!" Sherlock pointed a finger jubilantly at the screen, before spinning away, a grin on his face. John leant in to read it.

"Joseph Conrad, 32, resident in Camden. Charged with aggravated burglary and conspiracy to commit murder. Has entered a plea bargain, offering information on his 'sponsor', will be given police protection until his trial." John looked up. "He's due to be moved tonight."

"Not before he goes to his house and collects his things, says a final goodbye. _That's_ when the killer will strike."

Sherlock almost ran to the door of the room and wrenched it open.

"Lestrade!"

Lestrade came in.

"A man by the name of Joseph Conrad is currently in custody downstairs, correct?"

"How do you... yes, he's being moved tonight."

"Don't let him out, don't send him home, don't let him have a cigarette break even! He's our victim."

"Y...you're sure?"

"Is he ever this happy when he's not certain?" John had to ask.

"Well... what do you want to do?"

"Precisely what I said before. Go and get a killer."

/

At half past two that morning, Sherlock and John let themselves into Joseph Conrad's flat. They had got the keys from Conrad's belongings, after Sherlock basically scared him to death by telling him none too gently what fate could befall him otherwise.

As they came in, Sherlock flicked the light switch, illuminating the hall and living room in light. He then did the same in the remainder of the rooms.

"What... are you doing?" John asked quietly.

"We want them knowing someone is home. Now, go and find somewhere to hide."

"To hide?"

"Yes, John. The killer will expect one person in the flat, if he finds two what might he do? This way you will 'have my back', as they say."

"This... Sherlock, I really don't think-"

"We're not here to think, John, we're here to act."

For a second, John looked as though he was going to burst. Then, throwing up his hands in a gesture of 'fuck it', he went and explored the flat. He ended up hiding in a closet in the hallway. From here, he was able to see every part of the flat. Sherlock had pulled on one of Conrad's hooded tops with a look of distaste, and had pulled the hood, effectively shielding his appearance.

It took about 20 minutes. John's legs were starting to become uncomfortable when he caught the sound. A window being opened. His soldier's senses and instincts coming into effect, he watched through a small gap in the closet door. Saw a figure move near silently from the door leading to the bedroom, down to the living room. Saw a slight metallic flash as the man flexed something in his hands. Wire. A garotte.

He waited until the man was just moving behind Sherlock, who had been sat on the couch in the living room this whole time, apparently in a state of meditation, before stepping quickly out of the closet, his pistol raised.

"Make another move, and i'll shoot you right between the eyes."

The man became distracted by John's voice, and that was all Sherlock needed. He sprang up and knocked the man back, before getting him in a chokehold. John came forward and pulled the wire from the man's hands. He held it up to show Sherlock.

"Ahh. A garotte, yes, that fits. Well, it seems we have a delivery to make to Inspector Lestrade downstairs."

"He came after all then."

"Oh yes. Just because he disapproves of my methods, doesn't mean he would miss this."

/

"I can't say I approve, Sherlock... but you got the job done. The killer's name is Jowan Lebroski, he's suspected of the murder of 23 people. You've done well. I'll leave you to it, it was a long night."

Sherlock gave a non-committed shrug of his shoulders in answer. He was strangely uninterested in the details of the killer. There'd been no word from Moriarty since it had happened. He was taking his time, and Sherlock didn't like it when Moriarty took his time.

They were back at 221b Baker Street, and though they were both tired neither had yet moved from their seats. Both were waiting.

"Will there be more, do you think?" John asked softly.

"Perhaps. There was last time, but he's not exactly the most predictable of men."

John gave a faint chuckle, then hesitated.

"At Conrad's flat... what were you doing? It looked like you were praying or meditating."

"Listening. Waiting. I'm guessing you heard the window being opened and closed as well?"

John nodded.

"I didn't hear his footsteps, but... somehow I knew that if he got too close, you'd do something about it."

John's face suddenly felt slightly hot.

"Yes, well. I like to think i'm reliable. You were certainly fast on your feet when you took out Lebroski."

Sherlock seemed suddenly cautious, unsure how to proceed.

"I... know you think I was foolish, going into the flat like that."

"No, no, I don't think that. I was merely concerned. We didn't know what we would be facing, and you just wanted to go in there alone."

"I wasn't alone was I? You were with me, and I felt safe."

Again, a slip, one that he immediately realised and wanted to take back. John was the one looking unsure now.

"You feel safe with me?"

Sherlock didn't answer.

"The feeling happens to be mutual."

Their eyes met, and there was a moment of unsaid things between them...

Interrupted by the deep of the pink phone.

Sherlock tore his eyes away from John's, picked up the phone. One new message.

**Correct answer! Keep this phone around, i'll be contacted again. M.**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

**So, seemingly I had more time this weekend then i'd figured. Time to get to the Sherlock/John stuff, woot. I'm going to reply to some reader review's at the end of this. Enjoy!**

John slept late into the morning after the events of the previous night. He was woken by the all too familiar notes of a violin being played. Adequately. He groaned, rolled out of bed, and headed into the living room.

Sherlock was sat in his usual chair, violin in his hands. Not really playing so much as strumming the strings. John didn't need the consulting detective's brains to know that Sherlock had not slept. He was still wearing the same shirt and trousers from last night. He wouldn't have been surprised if Sherlock had just sat down there and not moved the whole night.

"Hm... interesting morning chorus."

Sherlock glanced round, lowered the violin.

"Did I wake you?"

"Yeah, but I should have been awake anyway, i'm supposed to be working this afternoon."

John yawned as he moved into the kitchen. He gave the table his usual part wary, part disgusted look, then opened the kitchen cupboards up.

"Have you even eaten anything, Sherlock?"

"Hm? Oh, no, i've been-"

"Thinking. The case is over, there's nothing to be thinking about."

John had taken beans and eggs from the cupboard. Sherlock sighed.

"Only it isn't over. The last message said he will be in touch again, that means there will be more. There's also..."

"Also...?"

"Why was he pointing us towards saving Conrad? It makes no sense, he would want the man dead."

"Maybe he thought you wouldn't be able to do it in time? I mean..." John paused as he located a frying pan from a cupboard and lit the stove. "He made the clues deliberately vague. Maybe he simply wanted to make a point."

Sherlock pondered that for a moment. Then his head turned as a sizzling sound came from the kitchen and he caught the smell of egg.

"What are you doing?"

"Cooking breakfast, for _both_ of us. I'm not letting you starve yourself."

"Is this the doctor in you speaking?"

"More the disgruntled friend and flatmate."

/

Over the next couple of days, Sherlock felt a mixture of frustration and relief at hearing no news from Moriarty. He knew no news should mean good news, and yet he wanted news, craved it in a way. He found himself tempted to call Lestrade, to check nothing new had come, and at once tried to distract himself in other ways.

He took another, smaller case, and solved it within a day. He tried going out whilst John wasn't in the house. He tried _cleaning_, something which had always ended up being John's duty – much to his annoyance. Nothing worked.

Having John around worked though. Just having him there, even if he was annoyed at Sherlock or talking about mundane events at his work or during his journey through London seemed to ease tension. He couldn't be completely certain, but he thought the same effect same over John. Being in 221b Baker Street was like coming into the eye of the storm.

On the third night, he decided to ask a question he'd been burning to ask, but... something had kept him back. John had come back from the practise a little downcast. Sarah was talking about taking a job in Europe, and they had apparently had a disagreement about it when he made the point that her job here was better, both in terms of pay and of position. Now, he was at his laptop – typing patient's notes, instead of that blog of his – as Sherlock spoke.

"John, I want to ask you something."

"Hmm?" He could tell John's mind was off elsewhere right now.

"Don't... take it the wrong way or think i'm making insinuations if what I ask is wrong, i'm merely asking." Why was he feeling the need to explain himself, he'd done nothing wrong?

John had noticed too, he looked up with a curious look on his face.

"Ok... shoot."

"Are you attracted to other men?"

The question was put directly, blandly, no way to avoid it. John's mouth opened, but he was uncertain how to proceed. He decided on the truth; an effort by itself, considering he'd never voiced these thoughts before.

"I have been. But i've not acted on that attraction. Guess it's... the military in me. Such things shouldn't be spoken about, that's how they see it."

"Are you attracted to me?"

He could feel the heat rising in his face again, along with a slight panicky feeling at what the reaction might be. He slowly nodded.

"I first knew... the night you nearly took that damn pill with the taxi driver. I realised you were in danger and realised just how much that thought scared me. I wanted to protect you. But I think... I was attracted to you almost straight away. Just didn't see it for what it was."

Sherlock's face was quite expressionless, but inside his stomach was doing a sort of backflip. He'd not wanted to ask, because the thought that he was wrong on something as big as this was heart-wrenching. He'd told himself his heart was governing his head, that it couldn't be real. But here John was, saying these things, the truth clear in those eyes...

And suddenly, they were kissing. Who had initiated it and why, neither quite understood. All thought was out of the window now, anyway.

**Smut next chapter? I think so!**

**Ok, reviews replies:**

**Melstewartm: Thank you, thank you, thank you and... thank you. Hmmm, I shall have to consider your Lestrade idea most carefully, hehe.**

**Hanabella Louise: Yay indeed, and most definitely.**

**Emma de los mardos: Thank you, i'm so glad. Ack, I literally spent a day thinking of plot holes... ahem.**

**Electryone: Thank ya ^.^**


	6. An announcement, NOT a chapter

Alright, so... quick announcement.

Apologies for not writing another chapter recently, but a lot's happened. A person I loved dearly died suddenly last weekend and at the moment i'm still coming to terms with that. His funeral rites are over the next week, and then on top i'm attending interviews for the Masters degree I want to do.

I don't like leaving readers waiting, but... I think you'll agree this is pretty good grounds for my taking a breather.

_That last kiss, i'll cherish, until we meet again_

_And time makes it harder, I wish I could remember_

_But I keep your memory, you visit me in my sleep_

_My darling... who knew..._

_Who Knew – Pink_


End file.
